


#andanepilogue

by PepperF



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, s6e13 Emotional Consequences of Broadcast Television
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4068052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Abed's fault, he was sure – it was Abed who got him thinking that he was some stupid character in a stupid show, tied into tropes and storytelling conventions and endings with satisfying emotional resonance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#andanepilogue

**Author's Note:**

> My immediate reaction to the season 6 finale.
> 
> With many grateful thanks to my wonderful beta, Bethanyactually!

Jeff didn't bother to take off his jacket. He dropped onto the couch, and threw his car keys on the coffee table in front of him, feeling unutterably weary. It wasn't the drive to the airport – although that was no fun, Christ – but the tiredness that came from having to handle too many emotions. Today he'd said goodbye to Abed, who meant more to him than he'd ever be able to tell the kid, and to Annie, who... who meant the world.

He sighed. Well, that was that. They'd had one last kiss, and it had been tender and painfully bittersweet, and he was going to treasure the memory forever, a might-have-been dream that he...

...wait a second. Wait just a _goddamn second_. What was this _Casablanca_ , _Gone With The Wind_ , _Now, Voyager_ bullshit? Why was he being all noble and self-sacrificial and my-heart-will-go-on about this? "GodDAMMIT, Abed!" he growled, sitting up quickly. Because it was Abed's fault, he was sure – it was Abed who got him thinking that he was some stupid character in a stupid show, tied into tropes and storytelling conventions and endings with satisfying emotional resonance. But his life _hadn't_ ended, the credits _hadn't_ rolled, he was still here, he was still going, and he was suddenly furious at himself for buying into it.

"What the fuck am I doing?" he demanded to the empty room. "Letting her go? What the everloving _fuck_?" Because no, he had no idea what she wanted out of life (although, judging by the FBI internship, right now it wasn't the wife-and-mother scenario) but he did know what HE wanted, and that was to take a chance on them. And yes, he still wasn't sure she wanted that, and even if she did, the odds were high they wouldn't work out, because when he'd stood there in the study room, he'd felt like he was staring at her from across a fifteen-year chasm... but the important point was: HIS LIFE WASN'T A SCRIPT. He was free to make his own choices and his own mistakes, and whether he ended up alone and alcoholic and teaching at Greendale until he became physically part of it like those fish-pirates on Davy Jones's ship, or married to Annie with a house and a white picket fence and two kids and a dog, it wouldn't be because it made _narrative sense_ ; it would be because life had worked out that way.

Electrified by a sudden sense of urgency, he fumbled for his phone – and belatedly remembered that she'd be in the air right now. The flight was, what, three hours or so? And then she had to disembark and get out of the airport, so that added another half-hour... He checked his watch, and made a rough calculation. If he called her after ten PM, it would be past midnight there, she'd probably be in a taxi on her way to her cousin's place, and feeling all grimy and icky from travel... He grimaced. Okay, compromise: he'd call her first thing tomorrow. And he would put on his big boy pants and fucking _ask her out _. And then they would come up with a way to _make this work across more than half the country_.__

Crap.

\---

While it was true that he'd not called her yet, a week after making the resolution to do so, he absolutely had good reasons. There was prep for summer school to be done, and going out drinking with Britta, Frankie, the Dean, and Chang, and going to the gym, and buying groceries, and... the very important Big Bang Theory marathon that had taken up his entire weekend…

Jeff groaned, and rubbed a hand over his face. Being a grown-up was _hard_ , and if Annie thought it was all wisdom and life experience and having lots of good stories, she was fucking insane. If anything, he was more directionless now than he'd been in his twenties, when at least he'd had the balls to go out and lie like a snake to get what he wanted. He hadn't known then that the more you stretched the truth, the more it hurt when it snapped back and hit you in the face. Now he was over forty, indecisive, and gun-shy. What a catch. How could Annie possibly resist?

Therein lies his real problem: she was out there, living life to the full, interning with the actual FBI, with her shiny hair and her shiny eyes and her shiny soul, and he was back in Greendale, in a dead-end job, bitter and cynical and staring middle age dead in the eye. He didn't want to ask her to make a choice, because he was afraid she might not choose him, and he was terrified of what might happen if she did. Not pushing it, letting them coast along as friends and might-have-beens, seemed the safest decision.

_Does that really count as a decision?_ said the voice in his head that sounded like Abed. _Aren't you really just procrastinating until the choice is taken from you?_

And so what if he was? Wasn't it for a good cause – the cause of 'not losing Annie in some terrible forever way'?

_You know you don't get to keep people forever. That's not how life works._

"Shut up, Abed."

"What?" said Britta, distractedly.

"Nothing," he muttered. "Ugh. I fold."

"HAH!" Britta slammed down her hand – a pair of twos, a pair of nines, and a king. "And you said I had no poker face. In YOUR poker face, Face Man!"

Jeff gave her a look of disgust as she pulled the pile of pennies and dimes towards her. "Was that actually an A-Team reference? You really are taking this 'letting our age show now that the kids have flown the nest' thing a little too far."

Britta shrugged, unconcerned. "You're the only one here with hang-ups about your age," she said, crisply. "No one else cares. Me, I'm going to grow old with no dignity whatsoever!" She held up a hand for a high five, but he refused to acknowledge it, staring instead at the sticky barroom table.

Was that really true? Was he the only one who actually cared about this stuff? "How do you do that?" he asked quietly.

"Do what?"

"Not care about getting old, all that shit."

Britta squinted at him, and he didn't look up, because he had a feeling he'd see pity in her eyes. "Okay, I care a little," she conceded. "I slather on face cream and pull out my grey hairs, like everyone else. But really, when it comes down to it, what can I do to stop it? I'll get old, you'll get old, Annie and Abed will get old – it's inevitable. I'm hoping that, when we do, we can all get together and have epic wheelchair battles. I'm going to put rotating knives on mine, like that old English queen." She gazed thoughtfully into space for a moment. "Berenice? Brouhaha? B...ob?"

Jeff stared at the cards he still held. It was a pretty poor hand – just three threes – but if he'd stuck to his guns and called it, he would have won. And if that wasn't a life lesson, what was? He sat back, rolling his shoulders. "With all due respect to you and Queen Bob," he said, "I've had enough, and I'm going home."

"Boulder? Beeee...yoncé. Boob-job?"

"Goodnight, Britta."

"Britta! Oh, no, wait, that's me..."

\---

Of course it was Annie who saved him in the end.

"Jeff, hi!"

He froze, feeling cold and hot tingles running through his body, merely at the sound of her voice on the other end of a phone. "Annie?" He cleared his throat. "Hi! How's it going?"

"Oh, you know," she said, airily. "Nobody here but the FBI's most unwanted!"

He chuckled. They'd been doing an X-Files rewatch via twitter, in honor of her new job and the upcoming new episodes. Well, he was rewatching – she was watching it for the first time. She hadn't seen it when it first came out on account of being too busy learning to go potty, say the alphabet, and stuff like that. Ugh.

They chatted for a while about how she was settling in, and how the internship was going (she was so thrilled to be able to say, "But I can't tell you any more because it's classified!"), and how Greendale was depressingly the same, and how their friends were doing. He could tell, though, that catching up hadn't been the main purpose of her call.

"Okay, spit it out," he said at last. "I'm sure you were dying to hear my deep and manly voice again, but what's this really about?"

There was a pause, and then a little sigh. "I think I made a mistake, Jeff," she said. He gripped the phone tighter.

"About what? The internship? Moving away? Are you coming back? Because I can pick you up from the airport," he rambled. "And if you need a place to stay or whatever – anything you need, I'm—"

"No, not that, are you kidding, I love it here!"

He tried – and largely failed – to contain his disappointment.

"No, it was... Look, you remember all that stuff you said, you know, about how you let me go with your head and your hands, but not your heart – even if you were a bit confused between your heart and your penis, which, ew—"

"I remember," he said, voice embarrassingly husky.

"Well, it's just that – we were interrupted, and I don't think I made it clear," she said, her voice resolute, and he knew this was it, this was the moment she told him they were never going to happen and that he needed to move on with his life, only he didn't know how to do that, not really, he didn't want to and he didn't feel ready... "that I never wanted you to let me go."

She…

…what?

He tried to reboot his brain.

Tried again.

There was a big blank space where his brain used to be.

"..." he said.

"And I know this is super bad timing, because I'm here and you're there, and I'm not going to be back until September, but I'd like to give this thing a shot, you know, if you wanted to?"

"..." he tried.

"Jeff? Are you still there?"

He finally found his voice. "What?"

He could practically hear her eyes rolling. "I am asking," she said, slowly and clearly, as if she was talking to Pierce, "if you, Jeff Winger, would like to date me, Annie Edison, with a view to future kissing, sex, and possible lifelong happiness. Idiot," she added, fondly.

God, she was even adorable when she was patronizing. He had it bad. "I, um, yeah," he fumbled, unmanned. "I mean, that would be – really?"

She giggled. "Yes, Jeff!" He could see her now, in his imagination, ducking her head and fiddling with her hair.

He turned and sat down, knees feeling distinctly wobbly. "So, uh… Annie Edison finally asked me out," he said. He couldn't stop the smile. "That's definitely going in my journal. So, as the woman with the plan, you want to tell me how we're going to do this? Because you're there, and I'm here… Pay particular attention to how the sex is going to happen," he added. "I'm very interested in that part. And if you want to go into detail, you know, don't let me stop you."

"Jeff!" she scolded – and then her tone changed, and dropped, becoming sultry. "Well, if you really want to hear my plan – I hope you're taking notes…?"

Jeff nodded, and swallowed. And listened.


End file.
